"Did you not sleep well?"
I frown, slowly shaking my head.
"The snoring," I mumble, my voice coming out pathetic even to my own ears. "It was so loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I thought there was a bear in the apartment. Or maybe a motorcycle. Or a motorcycle being driven by a bear through a construction zone. It shook my walls."
Cal snickers from his position at the table, where he is slumped over with his head resting on his folded arms like he is trying to become one with the furniture.
"Told you," he mumbles into the table surface.
Rafe's voice rises with indignation, sharp and defensive.
"I do not fucking snore!"
Cal lifts his head just enough to laugh, the sound tired but genuine and dripping with vindication.
"Dude, you snore so fucking loud! Like a truck engine! Like a fleet of truck engines hauling cargo through the mountains! I have recorded it multiple times. I have evidence saved on my phone. You sound like you are trying to inhale the entire apartment while simultaneously sawing logs with your throat."
"Fuck off."
"The walls are thin, man. We all heard it. Even the neighbors probably heard it. There are probably noise complaints being filed as we speak."
"I said fuck off, Cal!"
"Make me."
Etienne ignores their escalating bickering with the practiced ease of someone who has witnessed this argument a thousand times. His attention stays focused entirely on me, those storm-blue eyes soft with concern.
"How do you like your coffee?"
The question is so simple. So mundane. Such a normal thing to ask someone in the morning.
And yet it breaks something inside me.
I sniff.
Actually sniff, like a child who has just been told they cannot have a puppy. Like the orphan in a movie who has finally found someone willing to offer them a scrap of kindness. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes, the exhaustion and stress and overwhelming newness of everything combining into an emotional tsunami I am powerless to stop.
I look up at Etienne, and there are actual tears in my eyes. Real tears, threatening to spill over and make this whole situation even more pathetic than it already is.
"Black," I whisper, my voice cracking slightly. "Like my soul."
The room goes very, very still.
Rafe is gawking at me like I have sprouted antlers and started speaking in tongues. His gray eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open, clearly having no idea how to process an Omega on the verge of actual tears over the absence of caffeine. He looks like someone has just shown him a math problem in a language he does not speak.
"Shit," Cal says, lifting his head fully from the table. His amber eyes are round with disbelief. "Is she actually crying over coffee? Like, real tears? That is happening right now? In our kitchen?"
Etienne sighs, the sound patient rather than annoyed. He reaches out and pats my head gently, like I am a distressed kittenwho needs soothing. His hand is warm against my tangled hair, the touch surprisingly comforting.
"Okay, okay. Do not cry. It is alright. Everything is going to be fine." His voice is soft, soothing. "Why don’t we take one step at a time, hmm? One thing at a time."
I nod slowly, the tears still threatening to spill over at any moment.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, warm and steady and grounding, and gently encourages me to turn around. Then he guides me forward, steering me down the hallway like I am a lost child who has wandered into traffic and needs gentle redirection.
Which, apparently, is exactly where he is taking me.
The bathroom.
